


Adonis

by billspilledquill



Category: French Revolution RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Gen, I tried to write porn, M/M, Pygmalion AU, Saint-Just bites people it’s canon don’t @ me, and failed miserably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 15:09:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15367323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billspilledquill/pseuds/billspilledquill
Summary: “Is it Adonis,” Maximilien asked, “or Persephone’s love for him?”





	Adonis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AStupidUserName420](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AStupidUserName420/gifts).



> This is 100% for 420 and my love for her stories and her as an awesome human being in general. Also a manifesto for leo/max/ant ship (looking at you, my friend) along with my self-indulgence. Mistakes are all and forever mine.

 

“Is it Adonis,” Maximilien asked, “or Persephone’s love for him?”

Leonardo has been working on a marble for only so long. He liked masterpieces as much as a marble youth. The latter was speaking. “I didn’t gave it a name yet, love,” he said.

His friend blinked, the green sipping through the sun, the light. “I thought you might built your statue with a reference from the ancients, somehow.”

“I am not like Michelangelo.”

“You are exactly like him.”

“I’m trying something new,” he answered, looking up at the cold marble. “What do you think he is, anyway?”

Maximilien caught the statue’s wrist, circling it with his thin fingers. Leonardo stared again, this time, at its hair. With his hands in midair, he was already gesturing the things he could do to make it more smooth, like real hair, he thought with shudder, like a real marble.

“No one I know comes to mind,” Maximilien said after some time. “He does look like Adonis.”

“Adonis is for every charming young man,” Leonardo said, taking his hand from the statue and kissing it with vigor. “Can my genius only makes him terribly plain?”

Maximilien snatched his hand away, choosing to pet his hair instead. “You put ink on Adonis’ face.”

“That’s called beauty’s fault, a little ink to drain the swamp,” he slurred a little on the word, enjoying the touch. “It makes it look older, like a soldier, like— ah, _Alcibiades_.”

“He tried to get in bed with Socrates.”

“He is also a soldier. I don’t see why it doesn’t fit my description.”

Robespierre was smiling. “You pride yourself Socrates, I see.”

Leonardo pretended to think. “Umm. I think, therefore I am. Don’t you know?” Maximilien chuckled and kissed him on the forehead. He leaned a little to the touch, content.

“Don’t wore yourself out, then, genius.” He said. “I will go find you some water before that big brain of yours dies out.”

“Not the only thing that’s big, love.” He shouted across the room. The door closed with a loud slam. Not the only thing that’s loud too, he seemed to answer.

Leonardo’s smile faltered a little when he turned to the statue. He has spent too much time and work on it to deny that he loved him, loved him as an artist loved winter, the brittled white, ready to paint him a thousand colors.

The problem with his allegory was that he was an artist, and it was winter.

There was an air of anticipation in room. And ever the romantic, he wondered if it was the statue’s wish for him to lay hand on his chest, feeling the cold marble ever again, the movement of his arm as well as the lean and round shoulder.

So he did. He traced its chest carefully, feeling every deformities and rejoicing in them like a hungry artist, some unique thing of a flaw of someone else. There was a heartbeat, he hummed along, a heartbeat in that marble, how beautiful—

— _Wait_.

Leonardo jumped to his feet. Wait, wait, wait.

He would love to hear justifications for that kind of deformities.

He circled slowly the statue, its eyes looking out the door. His hair was still Adonis in its venerated form. It may be some mistake of his part, or the statue. Blinded a little by his pride, he’d hope that it was its fault. Leonardo had never made a mistake stupider than believing in tales of resuscitation.

When he touched that smooth and definitely marble chest again, the heartbeats drummed on like a whispered insult. Okay, maybe he should look more into it.

He let out a yelp when Maximilien opened the door with a bottle of water on both hands. He arched an inquisitive eyebrow.

“What’s wrong again, Socrates?” He asked. “Your method isn’t approved by Adonis?”

What would he give to not be childish, sometimes. “It, he, he—“ he pointed at the speechless statue, rendering him at a loss of words.

“What?”

He grunted, and put Maximilien’s hand on the statue’s chest. “Leo, I swear to god, I don’t want to be pranked with some awful—“ he stopped, his eyes wide with something other than fear. “Is that—?”

Leonardo nodded wildly.

“Well,” Maximilien’s eyes were still glued at the marble when he said, “at least it will get a nice scientific report on this. You can gain some money off it.”

“But Max!” He said, still beyond normal use of speech. “It’s–it’s alive.”

Maximilien handed him a bottle of water. “Do you want me to call Camille?”

“What is he to do with all this business of... statue-aliving?”

“He is a journalist,” he said plainly.

Leonardo’s head was still muddy with all that chest and heartbeats. In fact, his were out of control. “And? Does he read a lot of gothic tales?”

Maximilien unscrew the lid and lifted his head to drink. He gulped, said, “No, you might have made the news of the year, my friend.”

 

*

 

The night, when Maximilien went back home, he got to his studio to check one last time. He didn’t understand himself what he was expecting.

The room was a mess of moonlight and tools and the statue just stood there, still tall, still awake. Something too much about this, he knew. Something overbearing about this marble of an Adonis. Not because of the heartbeat, not because of the moon lightening his skin as if winter was never cold, not anything.

The statue’s eyes shone a bright blue that night. A pool of whatever that was not discovered yet, and Leonardo would dive in without hesitation. He wondered if hair like Adonis’ should feel like those of a frightened cat or China’s silk.

When the statue grabbed his hand, he realized belatedly that the problem was not the bright blue, but that he loved him as much as art would love its artist.

 

*

 

“Maxime,” Camille said. “I love you but you cannot legally own a human being in your boyfriend’s house. Also, let me add again that it’s a naked person in the late afternoon with no clothes and no shame in your _boyfriend’s_ room.”

Leonardo couldn’t bring the statue– a boy– _a boy for god’s sake_ , to wear something. It wouldn’t move. Maximilien eyes questioned him when he saw an absolutely naked boy in his studio with him, and muttered “all hell broke loose” when he had the chance to explain. He sighed, not wanting to explain this terrible, terrible situation ever again to anyone else.

“Please do me a favor and tell him, Max,” he said.

Maximilien’s eyes trailed after the boy, but answered. “Leo made a statue.”

“Woah, okay,” Camille said. “But he usually doesn’t make them, you know, with real hair and stuff.” He touched the boy’s hair and said, incredulous. “Well, that’s very realistic, if you ask me. I mean, I know that your boyfriend is extremely talented and all, but, hell, that’s a fine statue here.”

“We discovered yesterday that, too.”

“That he is unbelievably real?”

“That he has a heartbeat.”

“Okay.” He said, then turned his head toward Maximilien. “Wait, wait, wha–“ he trailed off when the boy reached out to grab his finger and bite him, with teeth, apparently. Leonardo couldn’t help but to feel a little proud. He even had teeth, that boy. He shuddered, thinking what kind of other things that he possessed, what more in store of this wondrous creature.

Camille hissed. “Okay, now you have to start all over again, because he is not a statue but an asshole. Also, no matter what you say, I have decided that I will hate him for the rest of my life, thank you. Now, you may start.”

“Ah,” Maximilien started. “But I have said it all.”

“From the intermediaries of your boyfriend making a statue and an asshole biting my finger off, I am fairly sure that you have missed something.”

“No, that’s all.” He said. Leonardo couldn’t help but laugh a little at his friend’s ability to explain, and Camille’s willingness to ignore what’s so clear in front of him.

It was like they were made for each other.

“Camille,” Leonardo said, drawing his attention to him, but Camille’s eyes quickly turned back to the boy beside him. As if everyone wanted a piece of him. “He is the statue.”

There was a dreadful silence, the boy smothered his hair with one hand and crouched down, his arms around his legs. Then rested his head on his knees, unblinking. And then, finally, it clicked.

“O-oh,” Camille managed to say, which was one syllable more than what Leonardo was capable of. “Oh.”

“L-like,” he began, tried again. “He’s real?”

“He just bit you, Camille.” Maximilien added, albeit unhelpfully. Camille crouched down as well, his eyes leveling with the boy’s.

“Does, does he have a name?” He asked. The boy’s hair made a movement. Leonardo realized that he was shaking his head. Camille jumped a mile. “He understands what we are saying?”

“I didn’t know that, Leo,” Maximilien said, astonishment seeping through his voice. And then he approached the boy as well. The boy squirmed a little, uncomfortable with all the people around him.

“What’s your name?” Maximilien asked softly. The boy looked up with that heartbreaking image of innocence. Also, confusion.

“M,” the boy closed his lips, opened them again. Leonardo can hear the fruit fly in the room and wanted to kill it. “Ma-“, he said. “ _Max_.”

Maximilien looked at Camille and looked at Leonardo, and colored when the boy said his name again, “M-Max.”

“He knows my name,” Maximilien said, an unexpected happiness washing over him. He reached out to pet the boy’s hair as he did with Leo, but he escaped at the last minute, leaving his hand hanging embarrassingly in the air. He scoffed and asked again, “Don’t worry, we won’t hurt you. What is your name?”

The boy pointed at Camille, who crossed his arms defensively.

“Don’t wanna be near him ever again.”

Leonardo gave him the best pleading eye he can ever muster. “Let him, Camille.”

Camille huffed, but took a few steps forward. “What do you want, you–“

The boy stood with his full length and pulled at Camille’s ears. Leonardo winced inwardly for the pain he must have felt. The boy muttered something to his ears, and proceeded to sit down again at Leonardo’s foot.

Camille rubbed his left ear, muttering curses under his breath. Maximilien had a smile on his face.

“I don’t like him,” he said. Maximilien’s smile only widened.

“Come on,” Maximilien urged. “What did he tell you?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled. He rose his hands in defeat when they all stared at him. “Okay, fine. He said something like that started with A?” He shrugged, “If he wanted to say asshole, he is right about himself and proved it with his pulling.”

“–Adonis?” He asked.

“–Antoine,” the boy said. He closed his eyes, his lashes casting a shadow on his face.

This was art, Leonardo thought when he saw Maximilien’s fond look on his face. He tasted the name in his mind and on the tongue. The boy came closer to Leonardo, and rested his cheek on his leg. He had the stature of Adonis, yet his hair was tangled like those of Alcibiades. His eyes were Apollo, but his face a mask of anarchy.

This was an entirely unknown thing, it was not the gods. He wasn’t beautiful, nothing remarkable, hideous, even. As if the features were stolen, not even used on the right places. He had created something inherently wrong.

There was a ink blot on his face, under his eyes. He tried to clean it away, but the boy flinched and looked down. He rubbed his face with his hands, and when he looked up again, the ink blot was still there, like a reminder.

Maximilien nodded at him. Their fingers intertwined subtly. Camille made a sound of disgust.

“Antoine,” he said to the boy still clutching to his legs. “Let me show you around, would you?”

 

 


End file.
